


Deadly

by gothikmaus



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ficlet Collection, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, POV Alternating, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 01:23:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20283079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothikmaus/pseuds/gothikmaus
Summary: A collection of vignettes about Aziraphale, Crowley and the Seven Deadly Sins





	Deadly

**WRATH**

"You will apologise immediately."

Crowley had to take a step back. Aziraphale was in full Angel Wrath Mode, complete with bright white wings, shining halo and blazing eyes. The demon had never seen him like that, not even during the failed Apocalypse. He could only be grateful said wrath wasn't directed towards him.

The man who had been standing before them was now cowering in fear, lips trembling as he apologised profusely.

"That's better. You may now go. You will forget what you've just seen and only have a vague recollection of saying something offensive and feel very sorry for it."

The man scrambled off without looking back.

"Um, thanks? I guess?" Crowley said. "That really wasn't necessary, though."

"He called you a freak," Aziraphale replied, looking scandalised. "No one can do that and get away with it. Not if I'm there to witness it." The angel smiled. "Shall we go then? I'd hate to be late for our dinner."

**SLOTH**

"Will you please get up from that sofa? You've been lying there the whole afternoon."

Crowley stretched his arms over his head and smacked his lips.

"Mmh... Nope."

Aziraphale let out an annoyed sigh. "Really, Crowley, it's bad enough when you sleep, which, for the umpteenth time, you don't _need_ to. But now you're just... Doing nothing. On my sofa."

"The cool kids call it "chilling" these days."

"Well, you're not a kid and, let me assure you, you're not cool either."

"Hey!"

"Truth hurts."

"I'm... Practising Sloth. Very demonic activity."

"Well, in that case I would have to thwart you, wouldn't I?"

Crowley flashed him a lopsided grin. "I'd like to see you try."

Aziraphale smiled sweetly. "You know, I was thinking of trying that new wine bar that's just opened down in Mayfair. I wanted to invite you along, I hear they have a glorious Chardonnay, but that would require you to actually get up, so I suppose I'll go on my own." He walked to the front of the shop and turned to look back at him. "Don't wait for me, dear, I may be late."

"You can stop right there, angel, I see what you're doing."

"And?" Aziraphale's expression was all innocence. "Is it working?"

The demon sighed and sat up. "Yes." He stood up in one fluid motion and was standing beside Aziraphale in an instant. "That Chardonnay better be bloody good."

**GREED**

"You really are a hoarder, aren't you?" Crowley casually commented as he looked around the back of Aziraphale's shop. The walls were covered floor to ceiling with shelves and all he could see were rows and rows of books.

"That word has so many negative connotations," Aziraphale replied. "I prefer collector."

"Whatever you say, angel. Have you even read half of these?" the demon asked as he leaned towards a group of ancient-looking tomes. He slid his sunglasses down his nose and squinted. "Is this the Divine Comedy? In Italian? Can you even speak Italian?"

"Please be careful," Aziraphale said as he saw Crowley take a manuscript off the shelf, a note of apprehension in his voice. "That one's almost 700 years old."

The demon opened the first page and stopped, one eyebrow rising.

"_A lo Messere A. Z. Fell. D. Alighieri._ You... You asked _Dante Alighieri_ for an autograph?"

"Er," Aziraphale looked vaguely embarrassed.

Crowley shook his head and put the manuscript back on the shelf. The angel was lucky Heaven didn't seem to be keeping tabs on Deadly Sins those days: he was quite sure Aziraphale's passion for "collecting" books could easily be filed under Greed.

**PRIDE**

Stars had always been his point of pride. He sometimes wondered if it had really been his "hanging around the wrong people" that had caused him to Fall. Maybe it had been the satisfaction he had shown in his creations (all right, co-creations), the way he would rattle on about nebulas and moons and solar systems, his insistence on wanting to create something completely on his own because "He didn't need God's help".

The ancient Greeks had a word for that, Ὕβϱις, and it had caused Lucifer's Fall too.

But every time he saw Aziraphale look up at the night sky and marvel at the beauty of the stars, eyes bright and full of wonder, Crowley thought he would do it all over again if it meant he could sit there next to him, pointing at constellations he had forged with his own hands and making his angel smile like that.

**GLUTTONY**

The first bite was always the best. No matter how many times he had eaten that specific cake in that specific café, Aziraphale couldn't suppress the tiny shiver of pleasure that ran down his spine as he closed his lips around the little fork, the chocolate slowly melting on his tongue and making his taste buds experience what a mortal would undoubtedly describe as "Heaven".

He pretended not to ear the (frankly embarrassing) little moan that escaped him.

"Careful, angel. Gluttony is a sin."

"You need to taste this, Crowley. It's..."

"Divine?" The demon finished the sentence for him, his usual smirk firmly in place.

"At the risk of being blasphemous, yes, this is divine."

The angel cut off a piece of said cake and offered it to Crowley. The demon hesitated. Was Aziraphale really feeding him cake? In public? Seeing the expectant look on his friend's face, he decided he didn't really care and leaned forward, opening his mouth for the proffered dessert.

"Well, fuck," he exclaimed once he had swallowed.

"See? I told you it was good."

Aziraphale took another bite, eyes closed and a look of pure ecstasy on his face. Crowley decided he would bribe the cook and have that cake delivered to the bookshop whenever the angel felt like it. He would just have to make sure he was there too: he wouldn't want to miss such a show.

**ENVY**

"Really, angel, I don't see the point of driving all the way down here just to check on those two. I'm sure they're perfectly fine."

"I know they probably are, it's just... I worry, you know. So much has happened and they're so young."

"Everyone is young compared to us."

As they neared Anathema's cottage, they spotted two figures walking out of the gate. Even from a distance they were unmistakable. As Crowley stopped the Bentley, Newt leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Anathema's lips. The look on his face as he drew back was one of utter adoration.

"Oh, aren't they sweet?"

Crowley felt something unpleasant rise from the pit of his stomach and climb all the way to the back of his throat, leaving him nauseous and with a bitter taste in his mouth.

He hadn't felt Envy in a long time. He had forgotten how much he loathed it.

"Are you quite all right?" Aziraphale enquired, looking concerned. "You're looking a bit green."

"Yeah, terrific. Never been better."

It wasn't fair. Those two silly humans barely knew each other and they were already acting as if they were soulmates. Whereas he and...

He violently crushed that thought. He had walked down that path before, several times in the course of the centuries, and it had never been a pleasant experience. It usually involved unhealthy amounts of alcohol and year-long naps. He refused to do that again.

He started as he felt Aziraphale's hand gently cover his own and turned towards him. The angel's eyes looked huge and bluer than the summer sky.

_Fuck._

"Can we go back now?" He croaked, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. "Have you seen enough?"

Aziraphale withdrew his hand. Crowley immediately missed the touch.

"Yes. You were right, I needn't have worried. But you know me, I wanted to be sure."

They spent most of the ride back to London in silence. Crowley parked in front of Aziraphale's bookshop, intending to go back to his place and sleep for at least a week. Sleeping always helped him forget; or at least prevented him from thinking. But as he was about to say goodbye, the angel turned around.

"Would you care for something to drink? I think I still have some of that port I got in Fatima."

Crowley wanted to say no. But as it often happened when Aziraphale was involved, he caved in.

By the end of the second bottle, his hands were itching to touch the angel. He wanted to know what it felt like to run his fingers through the short blond hair (would it be as soft as it looked?), press his lips to Aziraphale's neck (would he be able to taste his cologne?), kiss his way up till he reached his mouth (would the angel moan?). It was usually easier to shut out those treacherous thoughts and send them back where they had come from, but that day it seemed impossible. He needed to get out before he did something stupid and unforgivable.

"Right, I'm sobering up and heading home, I think I've drunk enough for today."

He slid on his jacket and was about to go, when he felt Aziraphale tentatively touch his arm. He didn't want to look at him, he really didn't. But as the angel softly called his name, he was unable to resist.

Aziraphale was standing far too close, one hand loosely wrapped around his wrist.

"Don't go."

He didn't.

**LUST**

Skin. So much soft, perfect skin. Crowley couldn't stop running his hands along Aziraphale's arms, up his back, down his sides. He couldn't get enough. Decades, centuries of longing (he refused to use the word "pining"), of wanting in silence, and now the angel was pressed up against him, shivering and whimpering under his touch.

Aziraphale arched off the bed. He had never felt the pull of Lust before. He had experienced Gluttony and Greed, even Envy if he were to be completely honest with himself, but never the all-consuming heat he was feeling in that moment. He was afraid he was going to combust.

Crowley moaned his name into his ear and Aziraphale stopped worrying, stopped thinking, and just surrendered to pleasure.

Afterwards, as they lay together in a tangle of rumpled sheets and twined limbs, Crowley decided he liked the look of Lust on his angel. He planned on putting it there as often as he could.


End file.
